Backstory: Foster's mother Sulla Cole made a pact fifteen years ago with a devil who calls himself "Lore", though his real identity is a mystery. Sulla's wish had been to have a son; she and her husband had been trying for years for a child, with seven miscarriages. Lore kept his end of the bargain with the birth of Foster, but as with all devil's gifts, the price wasn't worth it: Sulla's husband was furious when she told him she had made the pact, and left Sulla and her infant son to fend for themselves. For the next ten years, she worked as a servant cleaning linens and chamber pots at an inn to feed herself and Foster. But when Foster turned ten, Sulla's soul came due, and Lore appeared to claim his prize. Young Foster begged the devil to release Sulla from her contract, and the devil granted his wish, on the condition he act as his agent on the mortal plane. This was, of course, Lore's plan all along. The devil empowered Foster, giving him the ability to wield a variety of spells, occasionally giving the boy ineffable commandments he must fulfill without question, or his mother's soul is forfeit. This time the devil instructed his agent to kill the Goblin King Grol, though as usual, the reasons why are a mystery.

Personality: Foster takes no pleasure in his powers, and he's always on the lookout for a way he can free himself from Lore's service without damning his mother. He tries his best to help people who need it while he's on his missions for the devil, a small way to offset whatever unknown sinister plans he's helping the devil to advance. Despite his youth, Foster has an undeniable personal magnetism, but whether that's an effect of his diabolical patronage or a natural gift remains uncertain.

Appearance: Sixteen years old, Foster is barely more than a kid; he can't grow a beard, not even a mustache. He's tall enough, but lean and lanky, his limbs long and awkward in the way a young man's are when he's just grown to his adult height and hasn't quite caught up with it yet. His dark hair and pale skin are common enough for the region, though his eyes are an odd shade of copper, almost red, and they reflect fire far more than they should. An imp called "Wordsworth" is with him at all times lately, sent by Lore to keep an eye on him, though it remains invisible or in the form of a raven when in mixed company.

Assignment

"Whatcha looking at?" the imp asks, peering over Foster's shoulder, swishing its tail mischievously. It's not clear where the devil had come from or how long he had been there, but Foster is neither surprised nor alarmed.

"Nothing." the boy mutters. He wished he was lying; he had paid three gold coins for the book in front of him, supposedly a treatise on devils and how to bargain with them, but instead a collection of fiction and baseless rumors. He closes it and sighs, tossing it to the corner of the tiny dwelling he shares with his mother. "Nothing at all." He pulls his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them, frowning.

"Aw, don't be upset kid. You'll get it figured out someday. But hey, this is gonna cheer you up. You got a mission!" The imp produces a scroll and opens it in front of Foster's face.

"Great." the boy mumbles, taking the scroll and reading it quickly: it's already starting to burn away at the corners. In moments a pile of ash on the floor is all that remains of it. Foster stands reluctantly, reaching for his cloak and traveling bag, before looking back at the imp with a furrowed brow. "You delivered the scroll and I read it. Why are you still here, Wordsworth?"

"Boss says I get to come along this time." the imp says grinning "Says you need super vision. I guess because I can see in the dark."

"Supervision, not super vision." Foster corrects as he fastens his cloak "It means you keep an eye on me and tattle to Lore if I step out of line."

"Okay, gotcha. So where we going then? You going to kill a guy?"

"Phandalin" he answers with a frown, hoisting his travel bag onto his shoulders. "And yeah. Yeah, I am."

History: Orphaned at a young age on the streets of a backwater trade town, Cerise grew up begging for scraps and sleeping in alleyways, ignored at best and cursed or kicked aside at worst by traveling merchants and town guards alike. She might have starved or frozen in the gutter had not the matron of the town's roughest and shabbiest inn taken a shine to her and begun permitting her kitchen scraps and a place by the fire in exchange for the menial work best suited to small hands. Within a few years, as Cerise grew from a skinny child into a beautiful young woman, the matron put her to work as a barmaid. A pretty face and flirtatious affect made for happy customers and lavish tips, but Cerise never forgot that the same men tossing coins her way for the price of a smile were the same ones who'd been content to let her starve in the streets not so long before.

All her young life, on the streets and at the inn, Cerise suffered from terrible nightmares... the heat and glare of crimson flames, the reek of smoke and ash and burnt flesh, and in the midst of it all, two burning reptilian eyes, and the rush of great, dark wings. Cerise suspected the dreams to be some faint recollection of whatever calamity had orphaned her, but she refused to let herself think on them, even as they grew more frequent, even as she found herself staring into the hearth fire or the candle by her bed, wide awake but lost in thought.

Eventually, as Cerise matured, certain of the inn's patrons started wanting more for their coins. She avoided the propositions and pawing hands as best she could, but before long, she found herself cornered by a particularly crude and insistent merchant who refused to take no for an answer... until, to Cerise's surprise as much as anyone's, the merchant found found his groping fingers... and beard, and eyebrows... scorched by a burst of magical flame. The inn's matron, intervening, was able to calm the outraged merchant and convince him that it was no more than the sputtering of a nearby torch that had singed him - but that night, a frightened Cerise was told in no uncertain terms that a freak liable to burn the place down by accident was no longer welcome under the inn's roof. With nowhere to go, and only the few coins from her last night of tips to her name, Cerise fled the town and wandered aimlessly, in the company of whatever merchant caravan would take her.

At first, Cerise was reluctant to call herself an “adventurer,” (a word she’d always associated with the crudest and most disreputable of the inn’s patrons), or even to reveal her fiery powers. It wasn’t long, however, before Cerise found herself forced by the road’s inevitable dangers to wield her magic… and found herself enjoying it. After a life spent tamping down the flames within her, the young sorceress quickly came to thrill in the rush of unleashing them as hot and bright as she could, and began seeking out chances to do so. Her dragon-dreams have only grown more frequent since Cerise took to the adventurer’s life, but she does not find them so frightening anymore. Cerise tells herself that she adventures in order to defend the innocent, or drive away evil, or just to keep herself fed. But the truth, which she will scarcely admit to herself, is that when she unleashes her powers, something proud and fiery inside her spreads its wings...

Appearance: Before her sudden departure from home, Cerise stood out as a rare beauty, with fiery waves of red hair, pale, flawless features, and sea green eyes sparkling with merriment. After fleeing the inn where she’d grown up, she cut her hair short and spent some time affecting male dress, to avoid unwanted attention on the road. Although she’s since stopped pretending to be a boy, Cerise has only recently started letting her hair grow out again, she never got out of the habit of wearing more practical men’s clothing when on the road, nor has she quite lost the tomboyish affect she picked up while teaching herself to pass for male.

Personality: Cerise has learned that a pretty smile and a flattering word can be better protection than a dagger up one's sleeve, and so she has cultivated a confident and brashly flirtatious attitude, one that’s only grown more pronounced since she took to the life of an adventurer. Her breezy outward attitude conceals both the resentment born of a life of deprivation and ill treatment, and her growing unease at the flames within her that she only barely controls.

A slightly updated version of a character that I've really enjoyed playing, currently in need of a new home. I'm open to just about anything in terms of plot hooks bringing her to Phandalin - she could simply be passing through with a merchant caravan she's been hired to guard, she could be pursuing rumors of adventure, or I'd be happy to hook her in with a relationship to any NPC who'd be interesting. I'm also totally willing to go with the classic "find a new PC by rescuing them" device - Cerise could have been adventuring and gotten in over her head with any of several foes that it looks like the group is getting set to take on.

Kind of interesting how similar Cerise and Foster are, with the notable difference that Cerise enjoys using her powers and Foster doesn't. I wouldn't put it past Foster's patron to deliberately put Foster on a path where he meets someone like Cerise just to encourage him to cut loose.

I am tempted to use Aja, the insane warlock, that I made for another game here. But with two applications in other games and running characters in 6 other games, and trying to put together a game of my own to DM and I am unsure if I could commit to another game.

So I will say, Good luck to everyone and thanks for tempting me Zinrokh

We are 2 years in, heading into the final chapter and are looking for one or two players to fill in for a couple of characters that we have lost along the way.

Currently we have a team consisting of a Human Barbarian, Human Ranger and currently on a breakHuman Cleric.

The team is currently in the township of Phandalin. A town the adventurers have previously freed from the tyranny of a bandit group only to uncover that behind them was a shadowy figure of the Black Viper. The adventurers have freed their former employer Gundren Rockseeker from the evil Cragmaw goblins and now have a guide to lead them to the Lost Mines of Phandelver which they must liberate from hold of Black Viper.

Please feel free to visit our threads and see how things have gone so far.

There is no set dead line and we will close applications once the position have been fill.

Please check the original advert for all pertinent information.

In addition. Any character joining will be joining the party at Phandalin. Please consider how or why you ended up here. The party is interested in recruiting adventurers from the local town. You could be local, a prospector from elsewhere or an adventurer of any sort looking for employment or excitement. All forgotten realm factions are represented locally if you wish to be a member of one.

Posting interest! I've played this module before, but the game sadly only lasted until into the second chapter. Would love the chance to see how it ends.

Thia Fleetfoot

Name:Thia Fleetfoot

Race: Lightfoot Halfling

Class: Rogue (Thief)

Back story: A troubled orphan from the streets of Neverwinter, Thia always dreamed of striking it rich and buying her way out of poverty. Maybe that's why she stole away in a wagon train bound for Phandalin as a young girl, living off the generosity of strangers and her own penchant for sticky fingers, until making it to the mining town where her real troubles truly began.

Thia never got the chance to search for the fabled treasures of the long, lost cave having fallen in with the wrong company early in her stay at Phandelvin. The Redbrands, notorious for their toughness, pressed the adolescent halfling into their service as a barmaid at the Sleeping Giant. There she worked as a serving girl for pennies at their behest, carving her living by steathily ripping off customers, until the arrival of an exciting group of adventurers gave her new hope of finding the gold and escaping the ruffians.

She's determined to get on there good side - it's the only chance of a new life she feels she has left.

RP sample: WIP

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I like pumpkin spice, skating on ice, rolling dice, slaughtering my enemies, and being nice. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ No particular order.

Appearance: He stands only 5’6” tall and is slender. His green eyes blaze out compared to his somewhat pale skin and fiery red hair. It isn’t long, but somewhat unkempt. His ears are about the only thing the hints that he is part elf. He has a very youthful look. He is always grinning or smiling. Like he knows some great secret.

Personality: He is a friendly, outgoing person who is usually the first to meet new people and make friends. He carries himself with confidence, but not arrogance. He is always willing to help those less able to help themselves, especially with bullies and thugs.

Background: Folk Hero-A higher being gave me a vision of what I was to become.

Personality Trait: If someone is in trouble I am always willing to help.Ideal: Freedom-Tyrants must not be allowed to oppress the people. Bond: I protect those that cannot protect themselves.Flaw: I am convinced of the significance or my destiny, and blind to my shortcomings and the risk of failure.

Background: Loren came from a normal family with normal happy upbringing. His father was a Elven wizard and human mother was homemaker. It soon became apparent that Loren would not follow in his father’s footsteps. He just couldn’t or wouldn’t do all the reading, practicing and studying required of such arts. His parents were resigned to him being normal (non magic) as they say.

It wasn’t until after is sixteenth year that he began to show some innate abilities which he kept to himself. That was when he started to have the dreams. He wasn’t sure that was wrong with himself. This went on for almost a year. Little fire accidents here, frost ball there. It was only a matter of time before he was found out.

A group of bandits had come and raided the town. It was only a few of them, but the town had no town watch to protect them and they were armed and dangerous. It was then that the voice was clear in his head. “Use the powers I have bestowed in you. Stop these thugs. You have the power” Before he knew what he was doing he had blasted several of them into ash without the slightest thought. The other thugs ran when they saw what he had done to their companions.

His secret was out. The town thought him a hero and gave him a medal and more importantly, his parents were proud and surprised of his ability. “You had to find the easy way to power didn’t you?" His father joked. “Be careful how you use it and the price you pay” his father had warned him. His father had some connections and was able to get him a tutor to help with his learning and control of the power. The voice and dreams were a constant for the next few years getting stronger and clearer in their messages. It was time to head out on his own. He traveled the lands, helping those in need and joining several adventure groups gaining some wealth, experience and a name. He eventually ends up in Phandalin. Hearing rumors of mines and riches he hopes to get in on a group heading to the mines.

Name: BalthamelRace: Fallen Aasimar (VGtM)Class: Paladin (Oath of Conquest, XGtE)Back story: Ostracized from birth from a Background: NoblePersonality Trait: If you do me an injury, I will crush you, ruin your name, and salt your fields.Ideal: Power. If I can attain more power, no one will tell me what to do.Bond: The common folk must see me as a hero of the people.Flaw: I secretly believe that everyone is beneath me.prominent family in Waterdeep, the aasimar adopted the pseudonym 'Balthamel' and made a new life for himself by proving his worth as a warrior and an individual. He's obsessed with doing good to those he considers the innocent and overcoming the most impossible odds that one would be tempted to think he had a death wish. For him though, it was simply a means to spite his family by showing the world that he can be a force for good, and that he was capable of stopping even the greatest evil by his own might.

Balthamel's latest quarry is a shadowy individual whom people referred to in whispers as the Black Spider. The paladin has traced his whereabouts near the town of Phandelver, so he stayed in the town for a few days, gathering what information he could about what the man was doing there.

RP sample:

Breakfast at Grista's

It was a bright, cool morning, at the city of Phandalin.

Unnaturally blue eyes coldly panned over the sorry-looking patrons of The Sleeping Giant as Balthamel entered the threshold of the rundown establishment. Rumor had it that the dreaded bandits frequented this place, and the aasimar knew that he indeed was an outsider here. The music stopped as all eyes looked at the newcomer clad in a dark cloak, while there were a few gasps when their gazes fell on his vibrant irises. When the man slowly walked to the bar and sat without a word, the music eventually continued. The paladin knew that was bound to happen, and had mentally noted which ones looked upon his entry with more than eager interest.

Only three. My lucky number...

Balthamel flashed his most friendly smile at the surly-looking dwarf who glumly wiped tankards already hideously bent and tarnished with use. He heard a pair of footsteps approaching him from behind even as he gestured for an ale, so the aasimar prepared himself accordingly. His other hand went not to the sword that lay sheathed by his hip, but on the handle of his hatchet, resting in the crook of his back, inside his cloak.

The Redbrand laughed - his friends quickly joined in - and spit on the broken wood floorboards, as he took the stool next to Balthamel and leaned in a way that he surmised was supposed to be intimidating. The aasimar simply turned his way, grinned, and asked the question he had purposed to asked since coming here. He wasted no time nor words, as the paladin grabbed the man's hand and brought the blade of his handaxe straight through flesh and bone, punctuating the inquiry with a dull thud.

"Where's the Black Spider?"

Now short of a hand, the Redbrand begins to scream, but Balthamel wasn't quite done. His eyes suddenly turn black, and ghostly tendrils sprout from his cloaked back, giving the impression of white, bony wings. Some of the few patrons, inebriated with drink, promptly faint at the sight. The paladin makes sure the Redbrands saw him however, and asks the bandit with one hand.

"Use your words. Where's the Black Spider? Won't ask again."

As the thug stammers a reply, the paladin readies himself for more bloodshed; he wanted answers, and people were sometimes more honest when they were afraid. Balthamel knew how to use fear to his advantage. He wanted to be sure of his intel, though, so he anticipated more work on the two bandits that remained.